In Between Days
by mousers mary
Summary: Dan and Rorschach find themselves alone in an empty world.
1. Improbable

a/n: this is my first time doing anything plotty. I have a good idea where I want it to go, I just hope it's alright. Comments and criticism, especially of the constructive variety, welcome.

_***_

When he wakes, the room is enshrouded in complete darkness, as if it was the middle of the night. The alarm clock, usually reliable for its ability to speak truthfully, says 6:51 AM. _Huh, _Dan thinks to himself._ That's a bit odd_. He makes a mental note to try to remember to check the clock against another one at some point. Probably just off. A soft shuffling sound from somewhere in the house catches his attention. He sits up, fully alert. There's someone in the house. A light from the hallway seeps into his bedroom from underneath the door like spilled milk. It violently invades and violates the pervasive darkness. This new glow creates a weird disembodied outline, making the door appear to be like a large black rectangle hovering against a field of light. Suddenly, without warning, an abrupt and violent force causes the door to burst open, crashing into the wall with a loud THUD_!_ A silhouette of a man stands centered in the doorframe. The whole thing is surreal. An unreal quality that reminds him of the movies. Like something out of an over the top thriller, the murderer ominously framed by the door only a moment before—

Sigh.

"A little dramatic first thing in the morning, don't you think?" says Dan, voice still thick from sleep. He is not entirely sure if he is referring to his uninvited guest's excessively theatrical entrance, or to his own dark and wild imaginings. A flick of the light switch reveals his former partner pawing thoughtlessly through his dresser.

"Get dressed," Rorschach says, by way of greeting. He lobs a pair of jeans and an old pastel blue dress shirt at Daniel's lap. The jeans crumble in a graceless heap next him, the shirt, not having quite made the distance slides quietly down his leg and pools at Daniel's feet. He stares at it for a long moment before looking up again at Rorschach as the masked man continues to speak. "Something you need to see."

Dan is incredulous as he watches the man in the trench coat turn around and leave. _Nice to see you too, bud. _

_***_

Because Dan is an adult, and Rorschach is _not _his mother, he descends the stairs wearing a pair of khaki pants and a comfortable brown cotton t-shirt. He can dress himself, thank you very much. And if he's feeling just a little indignant toward the man handing out unsolicited wake-up calls, he does not let on.

A vague smell ozone permeates the kitchen, probably the whole house, as well, but not unpleasantly so. Refreshing, like the clean smell after a good rain.

"Good Morning," Rorschach offers, as Daniel enters the kitchen. "Hope you don't min—."

"No, no," Dan interrupts, vaguely waving his hand in the general direction of the man seated at the table noisily slurping a bowl of cheerios. It has been a long time, too long actually, since he had seen his former partner. And things hadn't been the same between them for a long time, as well.

Even still, Dan has an uncanny feeling they have waltzed to this song many, many times. Mechanical, like clockwork dancers. Or maybe he is just feeling off today. Woke up on the wrong side of—

Rorschach stands suddenly, turns away slightly, clearly needing his privacy. He pulls heavily and briskly at his mask, adjusting it back over his nose and mouth. That déjà vu feeling blossoms and intensifies. Hangs heavy in the air like a promise, or possibilities. A life stuck, as if in repeat. The creepy and uneasy feeling fades away just as easily when Rorschach faces Dan and begins to speak.

"Been outside, Daniel?" Something _not quite right _sits dangerously on the edge of his already peculiar inflection. If it were anyone else, Dan would almost think it was due to panic. _Heh. Paranoia, more like it._

He bristles at the question_. _What a ridiculous thing to ask. He wants to say, "Of course I haven't been _outside_. I just got out of bed. Or hadn't you noticed." He decides that he is only on edge for lack of coffee. He digs his hand under his glasses and rubs his face in one long downward pull before heading over to the coffee maker to start the pot. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Today was already threatening to bubble over like difficult stew. Adding scorn and ridicule to the cauldron this early was not going to help matters. Instead, he quietly answers, "What did you want to show me, Rorschach."

***

"I don't think, I mean, are you—" Daniel is tripping all over his words. Flustered. He visibly steels himself, and tries again. "No offense, man, but are you sure you want to be seen, you know, _with me?" _Under the mask, Rorschach glowers up at the other man from where he stands, from his territory of a single square of sidewalk. Staked out like his personal kingdom. Stares, then cants his head slightly, imperceptivity. He knows. Knows why Daniel hovers over the threshold the way he does_. _His body language gives it all away. It is all so _very __**telling**__._

"Understand your concerns. Discretion irrelevant. Need you to come outside."

Dan sighs before he steps out onto the sidewalk next to Rorschach. He hesitates for a small moment, because dammit, something isn't right. Something about this whole scenario feels off. He can't quite put his finger on it, though. He steps outside and he isn't sure what all the fuss is about. All this flash and thunder for what seems to be a whole lot of nothing. There doesn't seem -- And then. Wait. No, that's not right. The realization comes all at once, rushing toward him full force, like an oncoming freight train, the impact almost too terrible to bear. There are no sounds. Anywhere. There are no cars. No people. No hustle and bustle of the city, even at this time of day, whatever time it actually is supposed to be. No din of horns and car alarms. No chattering of birds. No people. _No people_.

"Where is everyone?"

He peeks over at Rorschach, who seems to have his attention fixed firmly skyward, trance-like, as if he is scrying the heavens for a key to unlocking the mysteries. Dan thinks of stars, about the impossible distances light must travel to reach his eyes, about time and how it is all relative. Rorschach does not respond, and maybe it was a rhetorical question anyway, no answer given because there isn't one to give, simply a way of articulating an acknowledgement, a confirmation that he understands Rorschach's motive in bringing him out here.

Dan turns to head back inside. They need a gameplan.

***


	2. Lonely Together

Chapter II

Rorschach sits on top of the kitchen table instead of in a chair. Dan wants to scold him, correct him like an unruly child, and give a stern glare before hollering, 'Sit Right!' Alas, Dan knows how well _that_ would go. About as well as a lead airship. Also, he likes his fingers how they are. He sighs. Maybe it doesn't even matter anymore. In a world without any people, the old rules of etiquette and civility simply do not make much of a difference. They merely will need to survive. Dan slumps in his chair and runs his hand through his hair. He stares at the ceiling, though there isn't anything especially interesting up there to look at. Everything in the kitchen goes blurry for a moment before he blinks. He doesn't know why. There must be something wrong with the light in the room. He takes off his glasses and wipes them with a small hand towel. He then gently rubs a small part of the towel in the corner of each eye. He's simply feeling frustrated. Not really sure how to process this weird new reality. The television emits a constant hiss, a white noise of nothingness against a violent snowstorm of white and gray. The radio emits the same ugly static, and Dan wants nothing more than to smash it into the wall, hear that most satisfying crunch, watch it disintegrate into a million tiny pieces.

The tension in the room is as electric as the buzzing appliances, hairs on necks and arms slowing standing. Anxious. Like a hammer thrown at a mirror, the spell is broken when Rorschach abruptly gets up, begins pacing like a tiger in a too small enclosure. And the world is too small. He is frustrated; a low growl waits in the back of his throat like a predator about to pounce on its prey. The wild cat is noticing a distinct lack of game planning, and it is not acceptable. Daniel gets up as well, quickly, nervously. He does not realize there are intense eyes, watching him, studying. Like a retreating creature, he heads for the basement door.

"I need to check some things downstairs," Daniel says. There is an odd note to his tone of voice; it cracks as though it is rarely used. Television sets and radios and police scanners don't lie, but he doesn't want—

And the tiger makes his move. "Things. What things need checking, Daniel? First, you check all the clocks, but find nothing unusual. Now you are going into your basement. Nothing down there but Owlship and abandoned gadgets and inventions. Will you next check electrical wires and plumbing? Your insistence on checking the working order of your home is nothing more than a distraction. Busy-work to keep you from accepting current reality."

Dan stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns quickly and glowers at the man in the doorframe. He opens his mouth to speak, to retaliate against the verbal assault, escalate hostilities, lob ammunition of his own, and god knows he has plenty to work with, and engage in full out war. It's petty, and he knows it. _TV doesn't work. Radio doesn't work. Not everything is _working, _is it?_ Instead, he points up at the other man as if poking him in the chest from where he stands. He turns around and continues further into the basement.

Dan stands over a large box-like devise. Hand on cover, ear on hand; he listens, as if for a heartbeat. Rorschach somehow materializes right next to his shoulder. He is bent down alongside Dan, straining to see what his friend is doing. "Rorschach. You're hovering."

Rorschach takes a step back, sleek and feline, and stands upright. He pulls down at his overcoat, the movement is meant to appear dignified, authoritative. He nods in the direction of the devise. "Power generator."

It is fortunate for Rorschach that Dan is not feeling unkind after the little spat on the stairs. He generously keeps a 'No shit, Sherlock' comment to himself. He is not some petty kid, after all.

"Yeah," Dan says instead.

"Should conserve power, then. Use generator sparingly. Unlikely ConEdison is running at peak capacity." _Or at all. _Rorschach stuffs his fists into his pockets.

"No. Yeah, that's the basic idea. I really don't know what we're going to do, yet, though. I mean, we're good for now. But not indefinitely. Maybe if need be I can go looking for batteries? Also, I'm thinking maybe we should stock up. You know, perishables first, and then canned goods."

"Agreed."

"Yeah? I honestly thought you would protest that one. You know, 'cause that's sorta, uh, stealing. Technically. I mean you can't steal from _nobody."_

"Indeed. The world is a dangerous, unforgiving place, Daniel. Even without the human animal with which to contend, we still must _fight_ and struggle to survive. It will be difficult to survive in the world alone. It would be better if we survived together. As partners." They shake hands and it is a lot like the old days, an expression of working better together than apart, watching each other's back, affirming a trust.

***

The sun is on the horizon, and it is a welcome sight. The morning spreads itself with an orange-pink glow, like melted ice cream. It has been years since Dan flew up in Archie. He had forgotten just how much he loved being up in the air, completely free, soaring like a real bird. The eeriness of a lonely world is readily apparent from this perspective, there should be a morning rush hour in full swing, people starting their day, opening up for business. Running the world.

"Hey," Dan says quietly, voice barely above a whisper. The other man nods and gets up from the co-pilot's chair. They have landed at a large department store, and Dan plans to liberate the store of some spare batteries, generators, and anything else he can think of. Archie has been reduced to a very expensive pickup truck, hauling crap all over the city. Initially he felt a little weird about flying around in broad daylight, but everything about their lives now feels upside-down. It's fine, though. The work takes a good chunk of the day, picking up stuff, taking it home, going back out again. They also hit up several different grocery stores in this manner. They get as many perishable items as they can stand. (And ice. Lots and lots of bags of ice.) They will most likely not use it all. Dan realizes, and rather dumbly too, as he should really have known better, that their life-style will change even more than he first imagined. There will be no one to collect garbage. There is no one to run the treatment plant. If they want fresh food, they are going to have to grow it. Or learn to scavenge. He had no idea just how much he took for granted.

***

When night falls, they are both exhausted, though Rorschach would never admit to such. It had been a long, stressful, and very busy day. Dan tells himself this is the reason he feels an overwhelming and crushing sense of weariness. It's fine, though. They'll get by.

Daniel is in the kitchen assembling cold cut sandwiches and scooping out globs of potato salad. Dinner. When the plastic container is empty, he moves to throw it into the trashcan, but changes tack mid-step and throws the container and its lid in the sink instead. (There is no running water. For dishwashing, and bathing, there now sit several jugs of water for boiling as needed.)

"Could be useful," Rorschach says, and Daniel blushes. There is reassurance in those words; neither of them knows really how to go about this. He slowly nods his head as he sets a plate in front of his housemate.

"I don't suppose there's anything on TV tonight."

"Or any night," Rorschach adds.

"Or any night," Dan agrees, wearing a grin. And it isn't funny, but he starts laughing anyway. It's all so ridiculous. "I think I finally get it," Dan says quietly. His partner makes throaty noise, and nods.

***

Rorschach takes the spare bedroom, though there is never any sort of spoken agreement. It is better to survive with another. Especially a _trusted _other.

***

Cold feet and boney limbs assault Dan in his sleep. "Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yes," the other man says. He pauses a long moment before adding, "Didn't want to wake up alone."

"Oh. Uh. Do you want …?"

"No."

"Oh, right. Good. Okay." Dan rolls over to look at his partner. Unfortunately, it is too dark to see. "Hey. You know, I was thinking. We don't have to stay here in the city if we didn't want to. We could go anywhere. Any place you've always wanted to see?"

"Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Would not matter. Could go to any place. See any city. Would still be empty. _Feel_ empty. Hollow world is not a free ticket to do as we please. Not children suddenly set free to roam amusement park after hours. With no other people in the world, the last vestiges of human civilization will crumble to nothingness, and we will be the only two men alive to witness our species demise. After we are gone, there will be no one to remember."

"Well, Mister Cheerful, you sure know how to liven a party."

"Yes. That is why…" He pauses mid-sentence and gently grabs Dan's wrist. He slowly brings Dan's hand to rest against his mask-less cheek. The hand brushes rough stubble, the hand's owner lets out a sharp exhale.

"Oh. Wow. Well. Uh. Can. Can I see?"

"Yes."

Dan goes to move for the light switch, but Rorschach grabs his arm to stop him. _"Yes," but not tonight._

"Goodnight, Daniel."

"_Oh. Okay. Goodnight, then."_


	3. Interlude

a/n: okay, so this bit is very talky. And kinda weird. As always, comments and criticism welcome.

Interlude

"_The quantum theory is based on the idea that there is a probability that all possible events, no matter how fantastic or silly, might occur." - Physicist Michio Kaku_

Laurie doesn't know where in the hell she is. She doesn't know why the air seems almost too thick and certainly too humid to breath easily. The whole of the world seems to be made of an off-white, almost gray haze. There is a sharp smell of ozone heavy in the air; it reminds Laurie very strongly of a particularly violent thunderstorm from her childhood. She remembers hiding under the covers until it all was over. An odd odor clinging in the air in the storm's aftermath. There are also eerie, but oddly beautiful harmonies, like an otherworldly orchestra, radiating softly all around, from all direction. As if the very world were made of sound. She doesn't know why Jon has brought her here. It's a very weird place. All she knows is that she is literally getting sick at his feet. And he doesn't seem to notice. Or care. She wants to yell at him, vent her frustration that he can't just pick her up and drop her off any old place without _telling _her first. Not that having any warning would help; it's the principle of the thing. The smell of her own stomach contents coupled with the over-warm environment causes her to feel sick all over again. She begins an uncontrollable bout of dry heaves.

When she stands up, she tries her best to look as dignified as possible. And what possible dignity she musters doesn't amount to a real lot. She runs her hands over her hair, flattening and readjusting it as need be. Then she runs her hands down her shirt and pants, brushing out wrinkles, straightening creases, giving a sharp tug to her shirtfront. She feels shaky and a bit on edge. She reaches in her pocket for a tobacco pipe and lighter.

"That may not be wise," the glowing blue man says, calmly, distantly. He gently reaches out and pushes her hand down. "I do not know what the chemical reaction will cause in this environment."

She just shoots him a deadly dagger-sharp glare. "What. The hell, Jon. Why did you bring me here?" She throws up her arms in frustration.

"There has been an anomaly in what you would normally think of as the universe," Jon states, matter-of-factly. Laurie's posture switches from frustration to bored apathy as she folds her arms over her chest. "I have brought you here in order to discuss the situation. This information will be helpful to you for when we return to Earth."

"How can _The Universe _have an _anomaly? _Jon. I didn't ask you to bring me to this weird void world. This isn't very funny."

"I agree. It is not very funny. That was not my intention. Please, allow me to explain." He gently takes her hand, stares intently into her eyes. What he is about to say will shock her. He dislikes seeing her cry, and wishes to minimize her anxiety. He speaks in a tone he hopes is non-threatening. "We inhabit but one of many universes. New universes are constantly born. Budding off others, while older depleted universes collapse and die. This process goes on for infinity."

She pulls her hand away quickly. "Is that where we are now? The universe is called 'The Universe' because there is only one, right? So how can _a new _universe even be possible?" When they were in their first years into their relationship, Jon had a sense of humor. Hard to believe now, but he had a sharp and dry wit. Over the years, he seemed less and less like that man. Maybe, just maybe he was now having a practical joke at her expense. Trying to reclaim that part of his personality. At least that explanation she could _understand._

He looks at her with a fondness she may not even comprehend. She is skeptical, he can see that written plainly on her face, and that is perfectly understandable. She does not perceive things the way he does. Years from now, he will take her to another unusual place in the universe. He will hold a conversation with her wherein he describes the manner in which he sees the strings. Here, in this relatively juvenile universe, they listen to them together. "Yes," he continues. Moments from now, he waits patiently until she stops crying. "We currently inhabit a sufficiently oxygen-rich universe. We are separate from the anomaly. The anomaly was the result of the formation of a nascent universe. In its creation, it inadvertently pulled all living matter from our own native universe. I did not expect to witness such a phenomenon within the span of human civilization. The probability is that remote."

Laurie completely drops her defensive position. She feels as if he has thrown a bowling ball at her stomach. She feels dizzy and light-headed. "E-everyone? Are they all…?"

He tenderly places a hand on her head, and she lets out a sob. She cries for several minutes. She takes large, gulping breaths, and as she slowly starts to come back to herself, she wonders if everyone on Earth was as fortunate as she currently is. To at least be deposited in a world containing enough air to breath. He softly places his hand on her chin, and she slowly stands to meet his eyes. They seem to swirl and glitter, and she wonders if universes exist there within those eyes.

"Am I the only human left?" She says. Her voice is quiet, as if she has completely digested this amazing revelation. Her expression, however reads complete disbelief.

"No," he says. He notices her pulsing heartbeat has slowed to a more normal pace, and she lets out a long, airy breath.

"I am unaware that Dreiberg and Rorschach have been left behind. You will inform me in the very near future they had believed themselves the sole survivors of the end of humanity. They existed in this manner for several days. Every living creature on Earth will return. They experienced no discomfort. Most are oblivious to the event."

Laurie believes it would be no great exaggeration to say she needed to collect her jaw from the floor. Ground. Gray mass-less thing underfoot. To say she was stunned would be the single greatest understatement in the history of understatements. In the world. In the Universe. In all the universes that ever was and ever will be.

She did not know what to say. "Everyone in the world? They are gonna be okay? Did they end up in a world like this one? Enough air to breath? What about food and water?" Several days. That must have been unbearable. And Dan. She cannot imagine trying to survive in a totally empty world. With Rorschach as the only other human on the planet. Dear god. She never did understand why he put up with that weirdo for all those years. She makes a mental note to give him a phone call first thing.

She sighs and suddenly feels very fatigued. The idea of a hot bath and a comfy bed beckons. "I'm tired of talking. My head is swimming and I'm not gonna pretend I understand half of what your talking about. I just want to go home."

"And so we shall."

**A/n: so, yeah, this is the bad science. I am not a scientist, physicist, string theorist or whatever, just a complete layperson, so I have mostly bs'd my way thru this. **

**Inspiration from Machio Kaku's "Parallel Worlds" and Brian Greene's "The Elegant Universe" **


	4. Feelin' Alright?

a/n: as per usual, comment/criticism more than welcome

The morning light filters through his closed eyelids like a pale orange canvas. For a brief moment, a shadow dances over his field of vision, it fleetingly blocks the warm, filtered sunlight. Back and forth. Back and forth. When Dan opens his eyes, a pair of icy blues stares back. Cold. "Having fun? Seriously, because that's not creepy or anything."

He pulls his focus back, back enough to take in the entirely of the face so intently fixed on him. Even through morning haze and blurry vision, he becomes cognizant of the fact that his long time partner (and friend?) is a complete stranger. The hard, dour face is a surprise, even though it probably shouldn't be. He wonders what sort of hardships he has had to endure, probably didn't have—

"Staring, Daniel."

"Right. _I_ was staring." Dan rubs his face, swings his legs over the bed, and sits up. Let the day start.

***

Dan scrapes the last bit of scrambled egg from the pan onto the other man's plate. He sits in front of his own plate, pushing the egg around with his fork. He addresses the fluffy yellow substance. "Do you have something I can call you?" His voice is quiet; he knows he would never ask this under any other circumstances.

"Usually called 'eggs' Daniel."

"I'm trying to ask a serious question. The jokes are cute, but…" he lifts his head to meet the eyes across from him.

"No," he turns his head away as he replies. "Just. Rorschach. Do not wish for… psychoanalysis. Do not want to discuss the matter, have things to do."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're very busy. Probably some drug-ring or prost— oh, wait." Dan smiles weakly and puts his hands up in a vague defensive manner. He sighs. "All right, whatever you want, man. I never said anything about psychoanalysis. I don't hold any claim about understanding any of that shit. So, if this is just a bit too existential over toast, then I can appreciate that. But, you know, it's just us now. We might as well stop hiding away from whatever…"

Rorschach gets up suddenly, tosses his breakfast, plate and all, into the trash. "Speak for yourself."

Dan traces an outline of a blemish in the grain of the tabletop, wonders how long it has been there, and why he is only noticing it now. "So, uh, my offer still stands, if you're interested." It is a total non-sequitur, a change of course about as subtle as an on-coming truck, but he doesn't care.

Rorschach makes a deep throaty sound. It is a contemplative noise, thoughtful, and solemn. "Yes, an afternoon spent in the library reading books about compost. Sounds very entertaining."

Dan puts his hand over his heart and feigns indignation. "Not just. Gardening, and canning, too. You know, _preserving stuff_? For the winter? And anyway, compost is very serious business."

Rorschach snorts. "Your project, do not wish to intrude."

"Right. You're probably content to survive on ramen noodles and canned corn for the rest of your life. And besides, you don't have to learn all there is to know about vegetable gardens. You can do, uh, whatever it is Rorschachs do best."

"And that is?"

"What? Oh, I don't know, man. It was a joke."

"Hard work. Earning your keep by making an honest living through honest labor. Doing what is required with out objection or complaint."

"What?"

"Hard work. What 'Rorschachs' do best."

And Dan just laughs and laughs. "All right, man. Sounds like I have a volunteer. Whadda ya say about taking a walk up to the Public Library."

***

The Main Reading room of the New York Public Library is a cavernous place, huge, empty and much, much too quiet. Dan sits at one of the long tables with a stack of books in front of him. The hardwood floor taps out a constant _click click click _as Rorschach paces the long aisle between the angled tables. Dan thinks of an impatient schoolteacher, waiting for his class to finish their exams, arms behind his back, occasionally peering over students' shoulders.

He gets up from his seat suddenly, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor too loudly, gratingly, like fingers on a chalkboard. "This is stupid," he blurts out abruptly.

Rorschach stops his incessant pacing, cants his head slightly. "Problem? Coming here was your idea."

"I thought I _liked_ the idea of a long term project, you know? Something we _need _to help us to survive, something to keep busy doing, but it's stupid. This feels so wrong. Planning a goddamn garden at the end of the world, like it's some kind of vacation from reality. There should be people here, you know? Reading books, talking too loudly, but. But there's nothing. Not even goddamn pigeons outside crapping all over everything. Fuck it. I - I want to go." His eyes mist up a bit, and he does his best to blink it away, roll his eyes upward toward the ceiling. His fists are balled up, and he's not sure if he's angry or depressed.

In a flash of motion, a wave of his overcoat like a flag caught in a violent wind, Rorschach is in Dan's face, noses almost close enough to touch. Dan's breath catches in his throat, because, god, what's he going to do, or say, this is….

"Quitting. Typical. Planning long-term is within our interests for long-term survival, and suddenly want to give up because you do not wish to face reality. This, Daniel, is our new reality. It will always feel 'wrong.' As it should. Survival will not be and easy thing. It will be _hard work_. But we must. We must because it is all there is left." His hands are on Dan's face, and he his close, too close, and Dan wants to run, those eyes are intense and ice-cold, and if he doesn't get away, he's going to— he shivers violently and pulls at his coat, as if the temperature just dropped a sudden 20 degrees.

Dan shakes like a wet dog after a bath, and the moment passes. He picks up the stack of books from the table, holds them to his chest like a plate of armor. "Yeah, okay." Is all he says, and pushes his way past his partner. Rorschach, not being one to be one-upped, turns on a dime and out paces Dan. He doesn't look back. They play this childish game until they reach the main door. Dan walks over and pats Astor (Or is it Lenox? He can never remember) on the top of his head. He looks up at Rorschach sheepishly. "What?"

Rorschach huffs and smirks.

They don't talk the rest of the way back. It is a comfortable silence, though, shoulder to shoulder, like it was. Like it should be. Two heroes against the world. Except there is no 'world' now. It is just the two of them. They lock eyes, if ever briefly, and make a silent, unspoken pact.

***

Dan never expected, in a million years, to see _this._ Rorschach has never been known for his cleanliness, and yet, there he stands, in front of the sink, washing up after dinner. It is proof positive that this really is a strange new reality.

He shakes his head and smiles as he heads outside. He strips off all his clothes, drapes them on the steps in front of his house, and dunks a washcloth into a large pot of boiled water sitting on the sidewalk. The last relics of daylight feel liberating on his back as he begins washing his hair. He never hears the footsteps click-clacking behind him.

_***_

"You say I have got to have a change of scene

'Cus every night I have the strangest dream

Imprisoned by the way it could have been

Left here on my own, or so it seems"

- Traffic, _Feelin' Alright? _


	5. Crowded House

Ch. V

She isn't trying for stealth; she knows her footfalls echo and reverberate off the sides of the buildings like the constant rhythm of a drumbeat, keeping time for nothing. And those footsteps sound unnaturally loud to her ears, not really appreciating until this very moment just how much impact one person makes in their environment during the course of their everyday activities, once all other sounds are no longer present to mask and absorb the effect. Therefore, in her mind at least, it goes with out saying _this_ is the reason she feels just a little surprised that her presence isn't noticed sooner by the naked middle-aged man apparently bathing out in broad daylight. He appears lost in his own little world, humming something she doesn't recognize as he pours water from a mug over his hair. She wonders idly, were she to believe she was the last human; would she bathe outside in the nude? She smiles privately. She knows the answer to that one.

She decides it is rude to simply stand and stare, admiring the not-so-perfect physique of a man she only somewhat knows. She pointedly coughs; a mock throat clearing she hopes will not startle too much. And of course, it does. He whirls around as fast and wild as a tornado, or a creature acting solely on instinct, and she can almost see the long, flowing cape he used to wear back when they were both in the same line of work, cascading around and around like a ferocious wind.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "Where the hell did you come from." His eyes are wide and face bone white. And it isn't so much a question as it is a demand. Her presence is _disturbing. _What if their assumptions were wrong? What if he was wrong? What if…

"Dan, I'm so sorry for…"

Then, as if hearing his own name in some way unlocks a secret enchantment, he remembers just who and where he is. He is, in fact, a man standing in front of his guest in his birthday suit. He quickly grabs his washcloth and covers for modesty. His face turns a very interesting shade of pink, and Laurie unsuccessfully tries to stifle a small chuckle.

"You have…" she starts, and finishes her sentence with a vague motion of her hand toward her hair.

"What?" he asks, softly. He mimics her motion to his own hair, and comes away with a handful of suds. He grins sheepishly.

"Oh, I'm just gonna…" he hooks his thumb toward the front door, and moves to collect his clothing.

She picks up the mug and the bucket of water and follows him inside.

"Be right back," he says, before disappearing up the stairs.

She wanders into the kitchen and empties the bucket in the sink before placing it and the mug on the counter.

She spots a calendar hanging on a wall near the table. _Owls of North America. _She casually flips through the months, only vaguely noticing the natural settings changing with the seasons. She likes December best, a large white bird with a funny face sitting on a white-blanketed pine tree. She thinks of snow, floating softly down, down in a small plastic-domed world. She notices a tiny ceramic owl on the stove, and gently picks it up from its little home there. _Shit. _She isn't sure why, but she suddenly remembers something Jon mentioned earlier. Rorschach is here, too. _Joy. That means he is in the house somewhere_. She sets the figurine back on the stove and walks slowly toward a door on the other side of the kitchen, left wide open.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the first thing she notices is the large round brown ship. It is beautiful up close. What it must have taken to build it. It's actually pretty cool. This thing once was a staple of the night skies over the city, its huge eyes keeping an almost omnipresent watch of the guilty and innocent alike. She reaches out to touch the hull.

"Miss Jupiter," a gruff voice mutters from somewhere within the cavernous space of the basement. (She does not jump.) She narrows her eyes, and scans for the little weirdo. He is hiding somewhere down here like a rat, and she is convinced his sole raison d'être is just to creep her out.

"Where are you, you asshole," she says, defensive stance, ready for anything. She probably should feel bad for speaking to him this way. She doesn't. "And it's Juspeczyk. 'Jupiter' is just something _my mother_…"

"Don't care," the voice interrupts. "Care only why you are here." A small redheaded man slinks out of the shadows like smoke slowing filling a room. His arms are folded sternly over a white A-shirt, ice-blue eyes fixed intensely on her, as if he could see inside her, see deep in her brain, read her very thoughts. She throws her shoulders back and her chin up.

"Jesus, is that what you look like without that sack? No wonder you never took it off."

"Hey." A voice from atop the stairs drifts down to the two bickering schoolchildren. They turn to look for its source simultaneously. Dan descends the stairs wearing a sweater-vest over a plain-buttoned shirt, and a pair of light brown slacks_. My god. He's a high school English teacher_. His hair is still wet and plastered back, save for an unruly lick in the front, curling upward as if to escape and fly off on its own.

"Laurie," Dan begins, places his hands up in a vague placating manner, as if expecting an argument. "I - I had no idea. I really thought, well, I guess it's stupid, huh?" _You know what they say about assumptions. _His hand wanders to his hair as if it had a mind of its own, and pushes the errant strand from his eyes. "I feel like an ass."

"Working on what we could observe, Daniel. Not to blame for underestimating situation. Suggest we sweep the city, perhaps will find others left behind. Miss Juspeczyk could prove to be a valuable asset in our search. Provide another pair of eyes."

"Guys, guys. It's not like that. I asked Jon to bring me here."

Rorschach makes a deep growl, clearly a sound meant to convey intense disapproval. Any good will Rorschach may have been willing to offer dissipates like an early morning fog lifting with the sun. "Likely orchestrated this. Tell me,what does the great Doctor Manhattan intend with a world devoid of humans? Perhaps current situation is unexpected result of some sick government experiment conducted on an unknowing populace…"

"Jesus! Is everything a goddamn conspiracy with you? Jon didn't do this. He…"

"Is only one who knows the truth. Need you to answer…"

"All right, look. Fighting like this isn't going to accomplish anything. Let's just go upstairs, I'll make us some coffee, and Laurie, you can tell us what's going on. Okay?"

Dan looks pointedly at Rorschach. "Okay?"

Rorschach turns his back to the others and wordlessly trudges up the stairs. Dan offers Laurie a silent apology.

***

Dan passes Laurie a mug full of hot coffee, no milk, extra sugar. Rorschach takes lots of milk and lots of sugar. Dan's mug is more moderate with not too much of either.

She talks about a misty warm world with ethereal music, strings and universes, time and relativity. She doesn't think she understands most of what she is relaying, is sure she's not getting the details right. The brunet looks interested but bemused, while the redhead looks dubious.

"Okay," Dan says, slowly, carefully. He works his words around his mouth prudently, lest they betray a gnawing skepticism. "Every living thing has somehow been swept away to _another universe," _he lifts his eyebrows before continuing, "but they are all going to be okay because, time is relative, and what has felt like days to us is only like a second, or something? I mean, I didn't have an explanation for what happened, but that's pretty out there."

"Yeah, basically. I mean, I'm sure Jon could explain it better, but everybody is going to come back, and they'll more or less be none the wiser."

"We will know," Rorschach offers, and for reasons Laurie cannot pin down, she thinks somewhere in those words lies a threat, like a spring-loaded trap.

"And?" Laurie glares at him. "This wasn't anybody's _fault_, just a freak accident of nature."

And suddenly, as if on cue there is a loud _SNAP_!like an over stretched rubber band rebounding back before breaking apart. The cacophony of horns, and talking, and yelling, whooshing of cars flying past the house, and it's all too much. They, all three of them, instinctively cover their ears, and rush to front door to see.

***


	6. Life Out of Balance

Chapter VI

They are an island in a sea of motion and color and sound. And the movement of life, people coming and going, cars and taxis and busses, it is all too much. A sensory overload like the sudden ability to see after a prolonged blindness. Dan thinks of a film in time-lapse, ramped up to mind-boggling speeds, brake lights and headlights on the highway nothing more than streams of red and white, torrents of people zipping through existence as if they were nothing more than automated machines. The three of them drift slowly as if on a strange, strange sea. They are now flotsam and jetsam, wreckage and debris left behind from a world in which they no longer belong.

Then they are two. Laurie is saying, "Thanks for the coffee," and "See ya, boys," and Dan is not sure if he is heart-broken, or relieved. She promises with a wink to call first next time, and vanishes around a corner.

Rorschach makes a disapproving sound as the _click click click _of her shoes fade from the edges of their perception. Dan squints his eyes behind his glasses and looks at the other man. There is an unspoken question hanging in the air like a heavy fog, it slowly fills the space created by the years and decades, permeating the creaks and cracks of ancient arguments, threatening to breach and expose them to the light of day once again.

He knows the trap for what it is. An attempt to bait him into leaping to Laurie's defense like the shining white knight he likes to think himself. _She's not like that,_ he wants to say. _She doesn't deserve your ugly words_, he wants to tell him, or even, _she's one of _us, _remember? _And he won't fall for the ruse, so Rorschach pushes him in.

"Saw the way she flirted with you."

It's what is not spoken Dan hears loud and clear. And even still, he refuses to bite. "I'm no home-wrecker. Besides, I'm sure she doesn't even know I exist. Anyway, I couldn't possibly compete with—"

"Suggest discretion in future dealings with Miss Juspeczyk. Would not want to be seen as moving in on Manhattan's territory, could be misinterpreted as inappropriate. Dangerous to flirt with potential wrath of jealous god."

Then, like a flash of lightning, a sudden glimmer flickers in Dan's eye like a flash of a bulb. _Huh. Is _that _so._

That glimmer makes its way slowly past his crinkled eyes, down to his smile, changing it from the usual amicable warmth to something feral, dangerous. He knowingly nods. Reads between the lines, hears loud and clear the opinion of the injured party. Instead of calling out the man for his hypocrisy, he deftly changes the subject.

"Maybe this is a weird thing to say, but I'm kind of disappointed everything reset, or whatever it was that happened. You know? Like I sort of got used to the idea of living alone." He shrugs and offers a weak smile. "Pretty selfish, huh?"

His companion does not respond, does not acknowledge he was even speaking. There is an obvious 'in' there, in those words. It is better not to name whatever weird thing they have, have had, to acknowledge it, too give it shape and meaning and birth it into reality. It is better to let it slip away unnoticed. So, instead he nods at the man in the scally cap as they approach the newsstand.

"Hey would ya look at this, didn't know ya had any friends."

"No matter. Paper in?" Rorschach sneaks a glance at Dan, and he isn't sure, but thinks that perhaps he detects a playfully teasing smile at the edges of his mouth, a slight upward motion at the lips curling around lighthearted banter as if between friends. He wonders idly if this isn't a game, a dance played by rote between two acquaintances, not because they enjoy the banter, only because its what they know.

"Look, you were here not an hour ago. It isn't in. I told you I'd set one aside—"

Something like understanding clicks in Dan's brain. "Notice anything unusual today?"

Rorschach looks up at him, knows where this is going.

"Sure. See, us news guys, we see everything that goes on. Ain't nobody more informed than me."

"Well, maybe it's nothing. Say, uh…" _Shit. What the hell do I call him_. Dan turns and stares at Rorschach, eyes searching his, as if trying to find a key, a clue to reveal the man Dan realizes he doesn't really know.

"Charlie," Rorschach supplies.

_Really?_

Dan doesn't really believe it, thinks it's a misdirection, or perhaps never really considered Rorschach to even _have_ a normal name, just goes along with it because he has no other choice, and that doesn't stop the name from sounding foreign to his ears. It is like a puzzle piece being slotted in the wrong position, or a fuzzy photo just out of focus, accidental movements telegraphed as streaks and streams.

"Uh, _Charlie,"_ he starts_,_ "when we were walking earlier, didn't it seem like… wait. What's that?"

A dark magazine cover catches his attention, and he reaches toward the back of the stand to lift it from its little perch there. The magazine cover displays a small group of men and women standing in front of a large device with the caption: _"Do these scientists have the answers to unlocking the mysteries of the Universe? What they have learned about possible extra dimensions, and the impact the shocking discovery may have in your life."_

Dan holds it up at the man in the hat, "How much?"

***

Rorschach paces behind the couch as Dan reads the article. It talks about an ambitious experimental project out in California. The facility there is conducting innovative research in cosmology. They intend to prove the existence of other dimensions. The article is vague and the science described in fuzzy terms. It is clearly intended for public consumption, the tone of the article sounding more like it would be at home in the National Enquirer than a peer-reviewed scientific journal, with its overly dramatic doomsday predictions. It feels like a start, at least. It is a lead, even if extremely vague. They have gone on less. But of course, that was different.

A tightness begins to form behind Dan's eyes. He removes his glasses and pushes his palms into his eyes, works them in until he sees spots. The tension headache still threatens. He gets up wordlessly from his spot on the couch and heads to the kitchen to make coffee.

***

Rorschach follows Daniel into the kitchen. He pulls out two mugs from the cabinet and sets them down next to the pot. Daniel gives him a sideways glare, watches him slink into the chair he has claimed as his own. Neither man speaks for the duration.

***

Dan isn't really sure how to go about this thing known as life. Things are different now. Retirement had been pretty straightforward, if dull. But dull suited him just fine. Free from self-imposed responsibility. And besides, he was made obsolete. And so he was to be content to fade away in obsolescence. He is surprised when Rorschach stays for dinner this night. He is surprised when, after Dan has gone to bed, it isn't long before he has company. The other man doesn't need to stay anymore, does he? Doesn't he have a home to go to, now that the world is set right? He watches the strange redheaded man sleep, notices how his muscles are kept taut, even in deep restfulness. Fight or flight kept readily at hand, to be uncoiled like a vicious viper at a moments notice. Dan isn't sure whether to feel pity for his friend, so obviously in pain, or anger, at himself, for never noticing before. For being so wrapped up in himself, living comfortably while his friend was still out there. He doesn't want to think about this now, a battle of conscience while he battles for wakefulness.

The morning brings an emptiness he hadn't expected, and he wakes up alone.

***


	7. Nothing Ever Ends

Chapter VII

Nothing Ever Ends

Dan descends the stairs toweling his wet hair, the smell of brewing coffee drawing him to the kitchen like a siren's song, luring him from the luxuriant steam of a too hot shower into the shock of the cooler room-temperature air. Of course, random strangers do not break into one's home and start coffee, so Dan deduces Rorschach must have returned. He sighs, and is a little surprised to find he feels a bit of a relief at the thought, especially after this morning's abandonment. _Abandonment. _Dan winces a small bit at the thought. Rorschach doesn't owe him anything. Is under no obligation to stay. Hell, he didn't even really expect the other man to stay even this long. They are not… Well, Dan doesn't know _what _they are, but they are not _that._

"Hey, you!" Laurie says as Dan enters the kitchen. "Just making myself at home. You don't mind, right? Rorschach came by to see Jon this morning. So, thought I'd tag along back here. Have some breakfast with you guys." She shrugs before opening up the cabinets, looking for mugs. "Better than the alternative," she mumbles, too quietly for him to hear.

"Oh, no. That's fine," he says with a warm, if slightly confused smile. "Where is he?"

"Here."

The voice behind him is gruff, Dan knows this is par for the course, but he can't help but stifle a small grin as the other man scowls just to emphasize how put-upon he is.

"Oh, good!" Laurie says. "Just set that on the table."

Rorschach sets down a small white box closed with a white string. Dan looks at him. "What is it?"

Laurie passes him a knife from the drawer, "Open it up."

Dan shoots her a quizzical look before giving the string a quick cut. The opened box reveals what appears to be a freshly baked coffee cake.

"He picked it out," she says with a grin. She sets down three plates and three napkins.

Dan rises quickly from his seat and pats his back jeans pocket. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. How much do I…"

"Sit down," she scolds, with a laugh. "It's on me. Or rather, it's on Uncle Sam. Either way, you don't own me anything."

"You sure? I mean, it's no big…"

"Dan. Stop being such a gentleman," she says with a wink. "I invited myself over, the least I can do is bring something for breakfast. And he wasn't taking advantage. If that's what you're worried about." She takes the knife from him and proceeds to cut them each a generous slice.

***

"So," Dan says to Rorschach through a mouthful of cake. "You, uh, you visited Jon this morning. Find out anything?"

"No. Confirmed Miss Ju—"

Laurie interrupts with a very unsubtle cough.

"Confirmed _Laurie's_ assertion. When asked about your magazine article, Manhattan claimed experiment by research facility in California had no culpability. The 'anomaly' as he referred to it, was as described. An 'accident of nature.'

"Ah, well." Dan gets up from his seat, dusts off any stray crumbs that may have gathered on his lap, before moving to clear the table. He collects the plates, and deposits them in the sink before offering refills on coffee.

Rorschach gets up from his seat as well, and ever-so-slightly nudges Dan aside to reach the canister of sugar. "Pardon," he says quietly, only just above a whisper.

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

Laurie snorts. It would be easy to tease them now, in this comfortable domesticity the two seem to share. She knows it would be a cheap shot, if only as a means of covering her own unhappiness. She finds herself here in Dan's kitchen more and more often, unceremoniously dropping by on random mornings proffering bagels, or doughnuts, or pastries, or coffee.

The three of them find their own rhythm, and she is easily absorbed into the home when she finds she can no longer relate to her long-time love.

The morning breakfasts still continue, until one night, Rorschach returns with news of an apparent murder. And the three of them, together, float out into the night to investigate.

***

a/n: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this thing. Thanks also to those who left words of encouragement, they were helpful more than you can know :D I hope this end here isn't a let-down, I had very nearly ended it at the last chapter, but didn't want to imply R was gone forever. *shrugs*


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